Groaning to yourself
by aliencatt
Summary: Bored, Dean glances out of the window and unexpectedly becomes entranced...WINCEST..


Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm just a fan.

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**Warning**... Read at your own risk...WINCEST

pre-series

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It had been a flash of sunlight reflected off glass that had caught his eye. Looking up from the magazine he had idly been flipping through, Dean glanced out of the window and was immediately entranced.

It was that quick. Suddenly he could not take his eyes from the scene playing out before him. Moving to the side of the window, he leant against the wall making sure his presence would not be noted in the unlikely event that the figure below would notice him.

Peering down from the room in the rented house he shared with his brother, he looked at the tall figure as it continued to move, cleaning the beloved car.

The sun was lighting up the clear open sky, reflecting off chrome, the black paint and the glistening suds as they were spread over the roof by the sponge held firmly in a hand moved over the surface by a long arm.

It was usually his chore to clean the Impala but he seldom found it one. This time he had been let off from the job due to the severe bruising he had sustained to his ribs on the hunt the previous weekend.

He had been restless, moping around his room with nothing to do other than 'read' the skin magazines he had to keep hidden from his teenage brother. He would have loved to be the one outside cleaning the dust and grime from the paintwork, his mind thinking of nothing but the splash of water or the sound of the sponge slapping the metal.

But now he found he was thinking of nothing but the sight of the muscles moving across the broad shoulders as, one hand leaning on the edge of roof, the other reached far across moving in large circles.

The day hot with the sun beating down, the tall figure worked in nothing but jeans giving Dean an expanse of naked torso visible as the dark haired body twisted to bend to the bucket. Re-soaking the sponge, it was reapplied to begin slow, circular motions over the passenger side of the car.

Dean unconsciously licked his lips as he ran a hand through his shorter dark blonde hair. He looked around nervously, confirming needlessly that he was alone as he tried to understand what was happening. He watched the narrow waist twist, seeing the beginnings of hips as the jeans rode low.

Muscles he had never seen before took his concentration. Or maybe he had just never taken note before as he saw the figure so often in passing, never before giving a thought to it.

But now he could think of nothing else.

He was hot, much hotter than the summer sun could be credited with. He could feel himself burning up. He was becoming turned on by the sight before him and, on realising it, flushed with shame.

He should not be reacting this way, not in response to the so blatantly male form before him, never mind the fact that he was family. His own flesh and blood.

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard but that only made it worse. He became aware of the constriction of his own jeans. His eyes shot open and he stared down at the bulge of his swollen prick encased in denim as if it was an alien parasite attached to him. Something that could not exist. But it did.

Groaning, his eyes went back to the tall lean figure bending, reaching over the hood of the car. As he stood back, Dean noticed that suds had caught the denim on a hip, darkening the fabric. His eyes stared as if he could see through the damp material and his own hand hesitantly crept closer and closer to the same place on his own hip.

Dean continued to stare. He kept telling himself he should not but then contradicted it by telling himself to look if he must, just so he could compare their physiques and therefore have a valid reason.

Finished with the soaping, long arms bent to the bucket, folding at the waist and giving him a view of buttocks covered in stretched tight denim. He moaned, almost in despair, and his hand moved to hover over the evident erection. He pressed down hard, telling it to leave. But he just shuddered and collapsed heavier against the wall.

The bucket of water was lifted and swung around to splash over the car and Dean began to rub at himself through the fabric.

The simple, normally pleasant, chore of washing the car became a nightmare for Dean as the figure quickly rinsed away the suds to reveal clean paintwork but then began to dry and polish the large car. Bending, twisting, reaching over, along and around the thing.

He looked at the pale skin which was so seldom seen in the sunlight. The loose jeans, seeming to move a fraction of a second behind the swivelling hips, did things to Dean's belly he had never experienced before, not like this. Not in such a voyeuristic way.

He had never needed to spy before, never needed the sneaky peek into the girl's locker room that had had his contemporaries at High School so excited. All he had ever had to do was catch a girl's eye, smile and maybe spring for a coke and he got what he wanted.

But this was in a whole new league. He found the 'forbidden-ness' an extra thrill. He knew he would hate himself later, would wonder what the hell he had been thinking, what the hell was wrong with him. But now, as he continued to watch, continued to enjoy the titillating vision laid out before him, he let his fingers pop the button on his jeans and pushed his hand inside. Onto his prick.

His other hand, he ran over his belly, his stomach, rubbing over his body as his eyes ran over the figure below. He bit his lips to hold in his moans as his hand made quick work on his prick.

Rubbing up and down the shaft as he released it from the confining fabric. He was not tender with himself. He did not deserve to be. His head pressed against the wall and he bit at his bottom lip hard as his hand moved harshly along and twisting around his length. Groaning to himself, he speeded up, staring down, knowing he should not be doing this.

The car was far from finished as he came. The whole thing, the wrongness of his reactions, the hotness of that strong muscled body being a revelation too him and so unknowingly provocative in the morning sun and he was coming with an agonising groan, ducking back away from the window as he was sure he would be heard.

It was almost immediate, the shame. As soon as he came down from the orgasm, he realised the horror of what he had just done. Not the jerking off, he did that all the time, but the source of his attraction, his inspiration. Quickly he wiped his hand, put himself away and fastened the jeans but found he could not leave his vantage point. Still he stared down.

Sated, he could, even now so soon, feel a renewed stirring as he continued to watch. The figure below was beautiful, handsome and forbidden. Dean knew he was quite possibly cursed.

A noise behind him and, "What you looking at?"

He schooled his face, praying the hot flush he felt creeping up his neck and face was not visible. As nonchalantly as he could, he shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Nothing much." Then, grabbing up the 'skin mag', he fled the room not daring to look at the inquisitive face.

Moving to the window, Sammy looked out to see what had had his brother so entranced, but all he could see was their father, polishing the Impala.

-end-


End file.
